


The Company We Keep

by RecklessGhostflower



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28329945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RecklessGhostflower/pseuds/RecklessGhostflower
Summary: When it comes to wars, there's the overt, all-encompassing war that gets written about in the history books. But many of those who fight are also aware of the shadow war that will be fought in, died in, and forgotten when the smoke settles. Our story will follow the last days of the Reaper War and the shadow battles fought therein...and how public perception is shaped when it's all said and done.After all, we're going to be judged by the company we keep.
Relationships: Aria T'Loak/Liara T'Soni, Female Shepard/Liara T'Soni, Miranda Lawson/Original Character(s), Original Male Human Character(s)/Original Male Turian Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Prologue: The Company We Keep

**Author's Note:**

> I dedicate this story to @MossyBallerina. A friend, incredible author, and the one responsible (or the one to blame for) my return to fanfiction.

Aria T’loak paced the office she had begun to lease in the Citadel.

Of course, Aria’s notion of lease was fling a couple of former executives against the wall a couple of times until they had helpfully signed over the title to the small office she now rented at Purgatory. She looked down at the people dancing their worries again and wondered how long that would last.

She placed a blue hand on the glass overseeing the dance floor and wondered what music would be playing at Omega right about now. Ever since her Cerberus-led outer she had been aching for a chance to come back. Give the people their freedom back. Would they be dancing right now? What kind of mess had those shitheels left at Afterlife?

_Damn Petrovsky. Damn the Reapers._

It wasn’t going to get any better for the crowd below. Earth had been under attack now and the Reapers had essentially won the space battle around the Terran orbit and were blasting all but the fastest refugee shuttles into pieces.

She poured herself a drink of Serrice ice brandy on a small highball, the blue-ish drink almost glowing under the office lights. She took a seat at her terminal and leaned back, crossing her legs over the glass desk. As the cool drink touched her lips, an alert sounded, and the borders of the window briefly flashed green. She absent-mindedly pressed a button on her omni-tool and the viewing window disappeared to reveal her comms station display. An encrypted call was coming in to her private channel that only three....she grimaced, eyes flickering briefly to the picture of Liselle on her desk…two people in this galaxy had access to. She opened it up.

There was a dark background, and a strange lumbering figure in front of a camera.

“Aria T’loak,” the voice said in a gravelly bass. “It’s good to see you made it—”

“Oh, drop the act, T’soni, I’ve known you’re the Shadow Broker for a couple of months now.”

The black screen blinked once, and it cut to a familiar face, illuminated by a floating drone and with a laboratory background behind her. Dr. Liara T’soni, researcher, adventurer, goody-two-shoes pain in the ass, smiled.

“I shouldn’t have put that past you.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“How are things?”

“Oh, you know,” T’loak said, with a shrug. “I’ve been kicked out of my own home, most of my staff captured, killed, or in hiding, and I have to put up with sitting around and waiting because Hackett won’t let me get back out there. You?”

“We’ve just rescued a Turian Primarch.”

“Always the hero, T’soni.”

“There’s a galaxy at stake. I’m sure you’ve noticed it.”

“I’ve gotten to watch it burn in the sidelines.” She crossed her arms in a perfectly human communication of impatience. “Now, is there something I can help you with or can I go back to sulking in peace?”

There was the tiniest flicker of an eyeroll from the other Asari at the end of the transmission. Aria smiled to herself. The cool, collected doctor could keep a calm demeanor with everyone and the apocalypse…but there was _something_ about the exotic-dancer-turned-criminal-overlord that got under her skin. It tickled T’loak.

“There is, actually. An opportunity for Aria T’loak to be a war hero.”

“I’ve resigned myself to being forgotten in the history books when this is all over.”

Liara’s sarcastic smile was clearly visible. “Is that _optimism_ I’m hearing from Aria T’loak?”

Aria raised her glass in response, and her smile was predatory. “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we _will_ die. Anyway…your proposal?”

“So, we’re all pretty much on the same side as far as Cerberus is concerned.”

“That’s putting it lightly. How many of your daughters have they killed?” Aria asked, her smile turning ice-cold.

The Shadow Broker didn’t flinch. “How many thousands of daughters will they keep on killing if we let them continue?”

“If the Reapers have any say in it, that won’t matter too much. What do you want me to do? Just go and knock on Afterlife, nice and all, and ask them to let me into my armory So I can blast the Illusive Man into his respective organic components? I think they’d have an issue with that.”

“Not quite like that.”

“Good, because that way is the way for my people there to get killed. And don’t—” Aria cut off Liara, her index finger uncurling from her glass. “Accuse me of sentimentality. I saw you when you were last at Omega, trailing that commander of yours like a lost puppy.”

“I’m not one to hide from my feelings, Aria. But we digress—there’s a hidden Cerberus base not far from Omega that we haven’t been able to track.”

“Hidden Cerberus bases? What’s next? Short-lived Salarians? War-hungry Krogan? If we find it, we smother it as best as we can. That’s been the Alliance’s MO.”

“This one’s a recruiting station.”

Aria sat up, placing her drink on the desk. This was different. Cerberus bases were usually the scientific or the military kind, staffed obviously by veterans or mercenaries purchased by money from the Illusive Man’s seemingly-endless coffers.

“You’ve caught my attention.”

“We have an approximate area, but there’s something that’s still garbling any Alliance and my own research. We’re coming up empty, so that’s why I’m here, talking to you. We need your best trackers.”

“You’re the Shadow Broker, why haven’t you reached out to them already or the Alliance pressed them into service?”

“We’ve got our hands full trying to keep the Alliance together. And the last time I floated the idea, Hackett shut it down. Something about keeping them in order would be like…what was it he said? ‘Trying to grab a fistful of goddamn water’” Liara shook her head. “Not that I would trust them in general with it because in the dossiers we do have we don’t have a team that would fit the mold. So I need your help.”

“I do have a team. They’re on shore leave right now.”

Liara’s smile began to crease at the corner of her lips.

“But you need to know what’s in it for you,” Liara said plainly. This time, Aria’s smile was genuine.

“I am _enjoying_ this plainspoken, direct Dr. T’soni. Were circumstances different, I’m sure we’d be closer.”

“ _Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,_  
_haply I think on thee, and then my state,_  
_like to the lark at break of day arising_  
_From sullen earth,_  
_sings hymns at heaven’s gate_ ”

“Rings a bell. Rieziya Januois, _Paradise in Thessia_?”

Liara shook her head. “Human poet, actually. William something, Williams sent me a book of his collected works on our first tour.”

“Intriguing. So, your proposition?”

“The Alliance have their hands full that traffic control to the Citadel is beneath their collective concerns.”

“Right.”

“And Bailey has his hands full trying to just make sure things don’t blow up where you’re at.”

Aria frowned, but nodded. As far as C-Sec officer’s went, Bailey was one of the good ones. That is to say, one of the ones willing to bend the rules to get results. She held a grudging respect for that, even though it had hamstrung most of her operations here since she arrived.

“What are you getting at, doctor?”

“You want to get back to your people at Omega, you’re going to need a fleet of your own, supplies, and a way out of this station.”

“Or at the very least liberty to do so without C-Sec sniffing around at the company I elect to take off the Citadel.”

Liara nodded.

“I have a favor I can pull with Bailey, and he’ll be all too happy to let go of several handfuls of people that he thinks are going to give C-Sec headaches. And--,” she stopped when she saw Aria’s face. “The reason he hasn’t budged with you is for the optics of the situation. If this order comes from Alliance brass then everyone saves face.”

“And they’ll do it…just like that?”

Liara’s smile reappeared, this time, it was mischievous.

“One of the good things about being on this side of the law is people like you a little bit more.”

“Weren’t you working with Cerberus at one point?”

“I was an independent contractor on board the _Normandy SR-2_ serving the general interests of the Alliance,” Liara said, going way beyond leaning into the irony of it all.

“I hate you,” Aria said, lapsing briefly into their shared Asari tongue. “But you’ve got a deal. I hire the best, and this bunch is a group of consummate professionals.”

Aria tapped the desk and a small keyboard popped up. In a flurry of keystrokes, she had sent the data over the encrypted communication to Liara. On the other end of the screen, Liara frowned.

“The Seven Eyes?”

“I didn’t quite get the explanation their leader gave me. He’s got a thing for weird names. Calls himself the Last King of Texas because—”

“Wait,” Aria said. “These guys are your best trackers? We didn’t have a dossier on them as a group but as individuals we did.”

“Like I said, I only hire consummate professionals.”

Liara let out another curse in Asari. “I can’t believe they were the ones that found…” she stopped, and she glared up at Aria.

“The Alliance Spirits Trade has banned all bars from doing business with them on account of several instances of offenses against public morality, drunkenness, and brawls.”

“Consummate professionals who like their drink and—”

“Half of them have outstanding warrants in _five different systems_ for arson. One of them set fire to an entire PLANET.”

“…their fire, and in his defense, the planet was empty and…”

“Two of them were exiled from their home planets for sleeping through the entire planetary chain of command.”

“…some people just don’t like to sleep alone…”

“Millions of credits purloined from high-ranking bureaucrats and disappeared into space.”

“…it’s good to be the king, I guess?”

“Affectionately known as the _Pyjak Defense Front_?”

“Under a certain light, those damn monkeys are kind of cute. I sort of understand it.”

“Aria,” Liara said, sitting back on her chair and pressing her fingertips to the bridge of her nose.

“Liara.”

“These are your best trackers?”

“You have the dossiers. It wasn’t Alliance scientists that found that ancient trove of eezo. It was them. They can find anything, and they’re damn handy in a fight.”

“Do you vouch for them?”

“I don’t vouch for anyone further than I can throw them. But if you want the best…they’re the best.”

Liara’s sigh of defeat sent a pleasurable shiver up her spine.

“How can I reach them? You said they were on shore leave, right?”

“Oh, yeah. That might prove to be a little bit of a problem, but I’m sure the Alliance is resourceful enough to bail you out on it.”

“Aria, where are they?”

Aria T’loak pressed a few more buttons on her keypad, sending over the coordinates. She smiled as soon as she saw Liara receive them, eyes wide.

They said the word together.

“Earth.”


	2. Kingdom Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Will keep trying to update once a week :)

Sanchez flung himself over the concrete railing as a stream of Ravager las-bullets? Ripped through the air above.

“Cover!”

He heard the voice over his comm-link from his Asari squadmates. He peeked out of cover and saw the Asari commandos run out of their hiding spot. Behind them, a group of Ravagers were hot on their tails. He lined up the sights of his Avenger and picked his targets carefully, a careful spray keeping the spider-Reapers away from his colleagues. A Cannibal popped up from the rubble the former gas station. In his twisted dark purple arm an activated incendiary grenade.

“Shit,” Sanchez said, swinging his rifle just as the Asaris vaulted over the concrete barrier and pressed their backs against the wall. 

“I got him,” said another voice over the comms. The bolt of a Mantis rifle cut through the air and through the enhanced sights of his rifle, Sanchez saw the Cannibal’s arm get severed in twocb 

“Shit,” Sanchez said as he saw the Asari twins vault over the concrete barrier and sit down with their backs to the wall thing whatever

“I’ve got him,” said another voice over the commlink. The bolt of a Mantis rifle cut through the din and through the enhanced sights of his rifle, Sanchez saw the Cannibal’s arm get severed in two, causing the activated grenade to fly up instead of to their hiding place, and the blast took down the Cannibal and a group of Ravagers that were headed forward.

“You could have just shot them center mass,” another voice on the comm-link said, and more sniper rifle shots began raining. 

There was a wryness to the voice of the first sniper. “I’ve attached a film mod to the scope. I have to make a statement.”

“I’ve got eyes on Mazorka,” another sniper’s voice kicked in. “And Jones is with him.”

“Mazorka, do you read?” Sanchez asked.

“We read,” the Krogan replied, a blast from his shotgun punctuating a comma. “Making our way to you all. Bombs have been planted.”

In a few seconds, the Krogan and the human soldier with him had cleared the concrete line and taken their place to the right of Sanchez.

“Where’s Taylor?”

Jones wiped their forehead with the back of their gloved hand. 

“Dead, got on the wrong side of 20 husks. Took them all out with her before she went.”

“Fuck,” Sanchez muttered. “Anyone else?” he asked over the comms.

“Rook nearly took my head off, but I’m fine,” said his squad’s Turian sniper.

“Big head like that it’s bound to happen one of these days,” said his human counterpart. 

“I’ll shoot you both,” Sanchez said, and turned to the squad at his side. “Everyone here okay?”

The consensus was “superficial” and “some scratches” even though he suspected that Dr. Church and her corporals would be having a very busy night tonight back at the FOB. 

“All other units report in,” Sanchez called over the all-squad comms and was met with a chorus of ascent. Two more KIA plus four casualties. Once he made a sitrep tally on his omnitool, Sanchez radioed back out to base.

“Base, this is Strike Diamond. Packages have been delivered, over.”

“We copy, Strike Diamond. Stand by for exfil coordinates. We’ll be sending over the Mossmoz.”

The instruction was loud enough for the squadmates next to him to hear. They all gave him a funny look. Three more bolts rang out. Sanchez stood up quickly and let out another several bursts of fire, shredding two incoming Husks before he sat back down.

“Sorry, base. Your message wasn’t clear, you’re sending over what?”

“The Mossmoz. Pilot Inane Rivera, Alliance Registry numb—”

“We got that part, base, and please convey our compliments to captain Rivera but we have our own ship, over.”

“The Judgment of Heaven is in dry dock. Orders from up-top. It’s the Mossmoz or you’re fucked, over.”

Sanchez sighed. Dry dock? He had given his pilots explicit instructions.

“We copy, base. Send over the coordinates,” he turned to his companions. “Strike teams, exfil coordinates are being sent to you. Raise hell on green.”

The four strike teams converged on the exfil point, the fires of the programed explosions behind them as the drone of the engines of an overhead dropship droned overhead.

His subalterns jogged next to him as they got near to the extraction point. “What’s this nonsense about dry dock?” this was from Kurosawa, his second-in-command and section leader of Strike Hearts. The objection was echoed by Atero, the Krogan leading Strike Clubs. Anatoily Khruschenko, the section leader of Strike Spades, was holding up the rearguard behind them.

“I know as much as you do. It’s not like Dreams to pull something like this,” Sanchez said, thinking of the pilot of the Judgment of Heaven. 

“Think something happened?” Kurosawa asked.

“We would have heard something,” Sanchez said. “But…remember Cantabria?”

Atero grunted. “Can’t believe you got away with it with just that scar across your face.”

“A little more to the right and I would have been left just as pretty as you, Atero,” the commander replied, ducking under the lazy thrust of the krogan’s shotgun. 

“Ship’s here,” Kurosawa muttered, and turned to Sanchez. Sanchez nodded. “Snipers, at the ready.”

The dropship dropped its camouflage as soon as it cleared the small treeline. The pilot was capable enough, at least. 

“Scans show just…three people inside,” said Olmyrian, heading the snipers waiting in ambush. “Waiting your orders.”

“If they start shooting, blow the ship to kingdom come,” Sanchez said, and headed down with the majority of the Seven Eyes down to where the ship’s ramp had descended.

And a tall, lanky man came down the ramp, a bottle of Batarian ale clutched in his left hand. He looked up at the troops gathered in front of him.

Dreams smiled. “Man, have I got a story for you all.”

The entirety of the Seven Eyes was packed in the dropship as it shook in the air, the pilot doing her best to navigate past the precarious few lanes that weren’t clouded with fire. Sanchez was strapped behind the squadron’s pilot and the dropship pilot. 

“First time doing this?” he yelled over the thundering of the engines.  
“First time doing this with unbearable cargo,” Riviera said, tapping a few more buttons on the digital read out in front of her. She turned to Dreams, sitting in the copilot’s seat, non-chalantly nursing from the bottle. “Is he always like this?”  
“He’s usually worse,” Dreams replied, shouting over the roar of the engine.  
“Get us back to base safely and I’ll buy you a drink, Riviera.”  
“I’ll hold you to that,” the pilot said. Sanchez turned to Dreams.  
“Where’s the Judgment again?”  
“Getting retrofitted for our next assignment.”  
“Where would that be? You let someone touch your baby?”  
“Fuck if I know, and those someones were Alliance brass and they had a lot more guns and you were out here blowing shit up. They said they’ll explain more once we get back to base.”  
“I don’t do well with uncertainty, Dreams,” Sanchez yelled back. Dreams shrugged and took a swig from the bottle.  
“I don’t either, that’s why I drink.”

Three hours later, the team was getting ready to make their descent on Forward Operating Base MV, a covert base carved into South Padre Island off the coast of Texas. If Sanchez squinted closely into the ocean, he could see the underwater pods that could be elevated at will to launch strike attacks against the invading Reaper forces. It had also briefly been where the Seven Eyes were spending shore leave. Rivera piloted the dropship into one of the smaller ports on the side of the base. 

“I owe you a drink, pilot,” Sanchez said, unbuckling his harness. She shrugged. “My squadron hangs out at Sector 742-E. Meet me there tonight. Dreams, you’re invited, too.”  
“Much obliged, partner,” the pilot said. “I’ll see if I can get the general here to splurge on a few more drinks.”  
“Haven’t you had enough?”  
“I’m not flying until tomorrow. I can take the night off.”  
“You’re supposed to ask me first before you do,” Sanchez said, furrowing his brow.  
“I did, general. But, you know, there was a lot of noise, I assumed your nod meant yes.”  
“I hate you so much,” Sanchez muttered in reply, and headed out the door.

The squadrons descended, and they were met by a group of security officers headed by uniformed man with the badges that indicated that he was an ensign with the Alliance Navy Engineering corps.  
“General Sanchez?” he asked, offering a salute before he realized he wasn’t exactly going to get in trouble or offend anyone if he didn’t. In the split-second, Sanchez returned the salute, to offer the ensign a chance to avoid giving a haphazard wave salute.  
“That’s me.”  
“Ensign Montague, Alliance Navy. I’ve been tasked as your liaison for your next contract.”  
“Good,” Sanchez replied. “I don’t like being kept in the dark.”  
Montague offered a grim face in response.  
“You don’t know much, either, do you?” Sanchez said, and Montague shook his head. “The only thing they told us was to have you report to Comm Central at 0800 tomorrow.”  
“I dislike secrecy,” Sanchez said. The ensign had the grace to at least look sheepish about it. “But we’ll make do.”

He turned to his gathered squad. “If you’re injured, go get yourself looked after, that’s an order. If Dr. Church doesn’t confirm you’re there in an hour I’ll have her track you down and drag you from whatever shithole you’ve crawled into and you know damn well she will. Rest up, and meet back at Comms tomorrow at 0700. I’ll see to the affairs of our fallen. Dismissed.”

One of the security officers spoke up as the Seven Eyes dispersed, a good half of them heading in the direction of the infirmary wing. 

“How did your team do out there?” the private—H. Garcia—asked.  
“Blew the target to kingdom come.”  
“That wasn’t part of the plan.”  
“It was a secondary objective should the first one be compromised.”  
“Captain Hawlett is not going to be happy about that.”  
“Captain Hawlett can go suck a Varcha’s asshole. I don’t report to him.”  
“Sir?”  
“Tell him that, Garcia. In those exact words,” Sanchez said, and pushed past the security officers and headed to the makeshift administration sector, where he could make the arrangements for his final squadmates. There would be no time for a proper funeral, but he knew every single one of the Seven Eyes would be drinking to the departed spirits of the fallen that night. 

Sanchez found himself being accompanied by Ensign Montague as he walked down the concrete corridors.  
“And what do you want, ensign?”  
“I’m part of your crew and as per my orders, your shadow and responsible for you to make it to the meeting tomorrow.”  
“As in, you’re my nanny.” Montague shrugged. “I don’t know you, general, I just know my orders.”  
“How do you feel about Captain Hawlett?” Sanchez asked.  
“Sir?” Montague seemed perplexed by the question.  
“If you’re going to be my shadow, I’d like to know if I can trust you.”  
“Officially, I have no qualms against the man. Dedicated soldier, family man. A great help to the resistance.”  
“Unofficially?”  
“I’d rather deal with three Reapers than be alone with that asshole. Sir.”  
Sanchez smiled.  
“Good, I won’t have to shoot you yet.”


	3. Deep Shadows and Brilliant Blue Lights

Losing Montague proved to be a lot harder than he expected, to the extent that General Sanchez just ended up dragging the man to the 742-E section to look for Riviera. The first airman that they spotted looked concerned at Sanchez’s outfit and only released his tension once he caught sight of the naval officer next to him. He pointed them in the direction of the mess hall. The mess hall was as close to a bar as one could make in an underwater base, but it had all the accoutrements.

“Is drinking before you embark a good idea?” Montague said as they entered the mess hall.  
“Is running your mouth to an armed man a good idea?”   
“I’ll go on and get myself something to eat,” he said, and moseyed on off to the kitchen area. 

He spotted Riviera near the back of the place, and she waved him over. Three drinks were already set in front of the short table. She nodded as he took a seat next in front of her. “I took the liberty of starting a tab in your name. They don’t trust you lot so you’re going to want to pay up before you leave.”

“You’ve got expensive taste,” he said, eyeing the tell-tale coloration of the whiskey, his omni-tool pre-emptively scanning it for any toxins. The flash of the weapon made the pilot smirk. 

“I’ve got no reason to poison you.”

“I can give you 10,000 reasons why.”

Her smirk turned into a laugh.

“You know we’ve suspended enforcement of contracts since the shit hit the fan.”

“Del dicho a hecho hay mucho trecho,” he said. “And in my line of work I have to take it to heart.”

“That’s fair,” she replied, raising a glass. “Here’s to paranoia.”

“May it continue to keep us alive.”

“Well, considering Hawlett’s been calling for your head these last few hours across all channels that might not be long.”

“What, are you like his personal pilot?”

“I’m but a dropship pilot and he’s all our bosses but, yes, I’m the best so I tend to be the one that flies him places.”

“Doesn’t that get annoying?”

“Man’s good at what he does, even if he’s a bit of a pain. If you weren’t so alike, I think you’d get along,” she said.

“I’d rather kiss a vorcha.”

The two talked for a couple of hours, at least. The occasional filter of a communication would pass by the eye visor he had over his left eye. His squad had all retired for the night or were on their fifth Geon Soup challenge that was going to hit them worse than a hangover the next morning. He could already anticipate the complaints and the smell. 

“One thing, Sanchez,” Riviera said, as he signed off on the credit transfer to the expectant waiter. “The other pilots and I have been trying to figure out something.”

“I’m single,” he said. “But I hardly think a warzone’s the best place to start a relationship.”  
“You’re funny,” she replied. “I like a sense of humor. It’s what I love most about my wife.”  
Sanchez acted like he was about to say something, then stopped himself and held up the palm of his hand in surrender. “I should have read—”  
“My personnel file, Mr. Paranoia?”  
He nodded, a sheepish smile forming around his face.   
“You’ve got me. What do you want to know?”  
“Well, we’ve been trying to figure out why the hell did you get that moniker.”  
“What? General?”  
“No. The Last King of Texas.”  
“Oh!” he said, laughing. “It’s actually a really funny story. You see, what happened was—”

The conversation was cut off when a loud voice bellowed his name across the room.   
“SANCHEZ!”

Sanchez’s reaction was a little slow, but within a split-second he had stood up from the table, and placed his hands on the holster of his gun. To his credit, Montague had also quickly turned from his bar stool. The man that was taking angry strides in his over him in the bedraggled uniform of the planet’s resistance forces. Two men stood by him in similar uniforms.

“Sir?” Riviera stood up, moving quickly to get between the men, saluting the man crisply. Montague joined her, and Hawlett stopped one step from them, glaring at both.

Sanchez sized up the man towering in front of him. Captain Vladimir Hawlett, Alliance Navy Retired, current commander of this entire sector and only two steps below Admiral David Anderson as far as the resistance was concerned. He didn’t recognize the other four, but they were likely corporals from the Captain’s own units.

“Ms. Riviera, Mr. Montague,” he said, returning the acknowledgement with the tiniest salute. “You,” he added, glaring at Sanchez.

“General Sanchez, Seven Eyes Company, also known as the l—”

“I know who you are. I’m the asshole that’s about to ask you why the hell did you blow up that depot.”  
“We were under orders from Lieutenant Adran.”  
“Your orders were to re-establish contact with the depot and salvage what you could.”  
“That is correct, sir.”  
“Then could you illustrate why there’s a smoking crater where the depot was?”  
“I could.”  
No one said anything for a few heartbeats.  
“Well?”  
“Sorry. I could, sir.”  
“And why aren’t you?”  
“I don’t want to.”  
“Beg pardon?” the captain asked, and Sanchez could see the tiny vein on top of his forehead starting to quiver.  
“I don’t want to,”  
“Sanchez,” Riviera said next to him. There was a hint of iron in her voice without the notes of menace Hawlett had. He turned to her and back to the captain.”

“We hit the depot as was planned, but it was already overrun with Reaper forces. We defaulted to our secondary goal of denying the objective to the reapers.”  
“And you didn’t clear this with your superiors?”  
“No, sir, I did not. I made an executive decision. If I had waited, more of my soldiers would have been killed.”  
“You are aware you are still here thanks to the good mercies of the Systems Alliance and therefore you fall under our purvey?”  
“No.”  
“No? To which part?”  
“To the purvey. If you remember the Solar Defense Treaty.”

Sanchez had made every single one of his soldiers memorize the document, but it had already paid enough dividends. A suspension of the enforcement of mercenary contracts not direct at the Reapers or their allies. Autonomy within mercenary groups. Pardons for any mercenary group with exemplary service. Without the treaty, most, if not all, of the mercenary groups would have bolted the second London fell. 

“Your autonomy doesn’t mean you can do what you want. It means you follow the orders you were given when you are operating under missions directed by the Alliance.”

“And I did. I moved on to the secondary objective for the sake of my people. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

One of the men beside the captain made a move towards Sanchez, but the captain held up his hand. 

“That was an old Asari diplomatic station. Do you know how much eezo there was there?”

“Quite a bit. You mentioned something about a crater, after all.”

“Holding it for longer would have allowed us to salvage everything inside.”

“Maybe, but I wasn’t going to take that risk,” Sanchez said. “Now, are we done here?”  
“I ought to have you arrested.”

“On what charges?”

“Insubordination.”

“Go ahead and—”

Sanchez was interrupted when the guard that had taken a step forward brought up his fist into his stomach, doubling the general over. 

“You will show some respect,” he said through gritted teeth. “We’re fighting a war and we need order.”

Sanchez snorted as he took a deep breath through his nose and straightened up.

“See now, I wish you wouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?”

“Paragraph 5, subsection a1.”

It was a split-second decision, which was a split-second less than the man who had hit him had to react to what was happening, and it wasn’t remembering that subsection a1 allowed anyone under the treaty to be able to act in self-defense if they felt their lives were at risk.

He drew his gun and opened fire. He knew neither of the shots were going to be mortal but he still deliberately targeted just the legs of the captain’s two guards. As they pulled back from the effect of the kinetic barriers, Sanchez brought his down against the closest one, leveling him with a well-placed pistol whip to the temple. He let the motion carry him through into a rolling somersault that sent him into Hawlett and the other man in a tangled mess. As they rolled, the other guard ended up on top of Sanchez before Sanchez kicked back, sending him flying behind him. He recovered enough to land a quick jab-cros-jab on Hawlett, who took the hits in stride before landing a strong cross on Sanchez’s face, the visor cracking and keeping Sanchez from getting a concussion or worse. Sanchez geared up for another series of attacks when a sudden field of blue enveloped over him, lifting him up in the air. He kicked but it was useless. The stasis field lifted him up and he looked over to where Montague was. He had an outstretched hand.

“I should have shot you when I had the chance,” Sanchez muttered. Three more resistance soldiers had shown up. Two of them reached the general and quickly handcuffed him just as the stasis field fell. The third one went over to the captain to make sure he was okay.

The two newcomers tossed Sanchez to the floor and started kicking him for a solid five seconds before the captain waved them off. The one good thing about the visor being gone, is he didn’t have to hear the horrible shrilling beeps he still hadn’t quite figured out how to shut off whenever his body went on alert.

“Pick him up,” the captain said.

The two men complied, and as Sanchez was hauled up, he had the pleasure of seeing Hawlett’s left eye start to swell. Both men would feel it in the morning.

“I’m placing you under arrest for assaulting a senior resistance officer,” he said. “Without an active, registered, commander, your Seven Eyes will now fall fully under resistance command. We’ll send word for them. And as for you? I hope you enjoy spending the rest of the war on ice.”

Sanchez smiled.

“What, you don’t even trust me enough to send me to the Berserk Brigade?”

“The Berserk Brigade?” 

The question was one filled with puzzlement from Riviera, who had been quiet during the whole ordeal.

“How badly did the captain hit you for you to spout that bullshit?” the man on the left asked. 

Sanchez didn’t blame the man for that, it wasn’t exactly something the brass openly discussed. He turned to Riviera, seemingly his only ally.

“Ask him about it. If he won’t tell you, I will. You see—”

There was a blow to the back of his head and he felt nothing.

“Are you going to come to bed soon?” 

The voice was tinged with concern, and it pleased Liara to no end to see that Elize Shepard, the Stalwart, the Ironblood, the Warrior, was finally starting to realize how important rest really was. Her commander’s fingers were warm on her shoulder as she looked at the data streams flying across her screen.

“I have to finish something first,” Liara said, looking up to the piercing grey eyes of the commander. “Shadow Broker stuff.”

“You can work on that in bed, you know.”

“All my equipment is here and, well, I don’t think the people I need to reach out to right now are the type of people you’d want to see you naked.”

Shepard leaned down.

“I don’t care, right now, there’s only one person on this ship that gets to do that,” Shepard whispered, brushing her lips against the Asari’s neck. Warm shivers coursed down her entire body and for a second, she considered pushing all thoughts of Hackett aside to join the commander in her quarters.

“Well, I wouldn’t be the first.”

Shepard straightened back up.

“Oh, Liara. It was—”

“I know,” Liara responded, grabbing Shepard’s fingers in her hand and planting a kiss on them. “I’m teasing. But I really need to work, and you really need to rest.”

“I can’t rest as well without you. There’s something wrong with my bed.”

Liara looked up at the Commander. 

“And I’m the only one that can calibrate it properly. You won’t forget that, will you, Shepard?”

“Of course not. I’ll see you soon.”

The commander headed to the door of Liara’s office before she turned on her chair.

“Shepard?”

“Yeah?”

“If you’re bored, you can play a game of ‘guess which person on the Normandy wants to bang the skipper’”

“Besides Garrus?”

She held up five fingers. 

“Besides him.”

“And you’re not going to tell me?”

“Of course not. Where would the fun be in that? And I would never, ever, ever, use my resources to peek through audio logs in the security feed.”

“This teasing you’re doing, it’s not very Asari-like,” Shepard said, frowning. “You’ve been spending too much time with me.”

“Worth every minute, my love.”

Shepard smiled, and then stepped out into the hallway. The whoosh of air closed the open door as soon as she left and Liara sighed. She turned back to her screens and queued up the coordinates that Hackett had provided. Coordinating the communication between a moving starship and two of the most powerful men in the Systems Alliance was not always easy, but the resources as the Shadow Broker helped facilitate that.

The faces of both Hackett and Anderson appeared in a holographic projection on her screen.

“T’soni. How can we help you?”

“The task you had me prepare for. We’ve got the names and now we just need to extract them. I’ve already bought their contracts from Aria T’loak.”

“And they’re good for their word? Shepard’s spent quite a bit of time recently gunning down mercs and I just so happen to agree with her bullets’ opinion.”

“They’re good for their word,” Liara replied. “I trust Aria.”

“I wonder how many people have had that written on their tombstone,” Hackett replied. “Anderson, do you have their location?” 

“They’re in the Southwest sector, under Vladimir Hawlett. Currently indisposed pending an official transfer of their services to those of the Resistance.”

Liara shook her head. “It can’t be them. Give Hawlett someone else. Hackett wanted the best and these are Aria’s best. I’ve already spent some considerable resources getting someone to keep them safe.”

Hackett sighed, and Anderson looked off-screen for a second, looking concerned as whoever had walked into the room had just informed him of something.

“It’s not going to be easy, creating enough space through the reaper screen,” Hackett said. “But if they can find that damn recruiting station I can stop worrying about a fifth column biting us in the ass.” 

“We’re going to have a problem,” Anderson said, coming back on audio.

Two different languages cursed at the same time.

“What happened?”

“The reason why Hawlett’s requesting the transfer is because General Sanchez has been arrested for assaulting a superior officer. It voids the SDF. T’soni, I thought you had someone keeping tabs on them?”

“I did. I’m not sure what happened. I will reach out to the contact.”

Well, so much for sleep that night.

“Anderson, you’re in charge down there. Your orders supersede Hawlett’s.”

“If Liara wants them as-is, it’s going to be hard to keep them together without cuing Hawlett into what’s going on. And frankly, I don’t trust the man any farther than I can throw him.”

“I have an idea,” Liara said. “Draft the message you were going to send when we hired them and send it over. I’ll explain everything to my contract.”

“Then what?”

“We’ll spring the entire outfit.”

“What makes you think that will work?”

“I’ve read their personnel files. Their pilot trained with Joker Moreau at Arcturus and Moreau confirmed he’s the fourth best pilot in the Navy. If we get them to their ship, there won’t be an issue. Whatever fallout, my contact is Alliance Navy. It’ll give credence to any level of credibility when someone asks if this was sanctioned by the Admiralty.”

“And this contact of yours can be trusted?” Anderson asked.

“He was one of my first recruits. He can.” Liara said.

“Then I’ll make sure to try and give him some time so the Seven Eyes can leave Earth. Hackett, can you give us cover?”

“It’ll be a tight window but we can,” he looked down and typed something on an unseen keyboard. “I’ll dispatch the 221st to give orbital cover the second your agent makes contact with them.”

“I hope this headache’s going to be worth it, T’soni,” Anderson mused. 

“It will be, Admiral.”


End file.
